Short and sweet today.
Yesterday I hit my traditional first summit hike of the year. For a number of years my first summit has been Grandeur Peak, simply because it typically thaws fairly quickly and I have a special place in my heart for that little mountain.
When I was young I was what I called an “inside kid” but there were rare occasions when I would get out into nature, and at some point in my boy scouting years I was coerced into a backpacking overnighter.
I was not ready for it.
And neither was the troop.
We got a late start and tried to get up the trail as quickly as possible.
We ended up having to break out the flashlights.
And upward we went.
We set up what was possibly the most hastily set up campsite when we hit the saddle.
And we slept.
We then woke up early to hike to the summit and watch the sunrise.
And that moment stuck with me for many years.
When I fell in love with summits after Nebo and decided I wanted ore of that in my life the first one I went back to was Grandeur.
And it has been first ever since.
There is something to be said for tradition, even if it is just something small, that repetition works a groove into our psyche and allows us to keep moving in a positive direction.
And what are traditions if not habits that span years?
You know I love habits.
So I must love tradition.